


Deprivation

by brodylover



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Begging, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Rimming, Safewords, Self-Indulgent, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6875398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something strange about Dorian Pavus, something that reveals itself at the calmest of touches. The Iron Bull wants to know what it is and knows that he can fix whatever ache there is</p><p>Contest: There is some very subtle wordplay in this fic. The first to guess what it is will win a free bw lineart commission of their choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deprivation

There was something wrong with the Tevinter mage, over than the fact that everything was wrong with him. He was loud and boisterous, drawing attention with magic and charm alike. He was hot blooded in a cold land, surrounding himself with enemies, demanding attention and then locking himself away in the library. 

Dorian Pavus was the kind of man who could use a good strangling, be put in his place, be reminded that here, in the cold south, there was no Alti and he was no more than a peasant. As his kohl darkened eyes traveled The Iron Bull’s muscles, the Inquisitor’s, Cullen’s, it seemed he possibly would enjoy such an act.

\--

His hands were long and elegant, embellished by multiple rings of similar but different designs. Sera’s hands were short and stubby in comparison, the only ornamentation on them the grime under her fingernails. 

She shoved her hand into Dorian’s face, mercilessly. The man brushed it aside with the back of his own perfect one. 

Perhaps he didn’t understand the gesture, perhaps, high-fives weren’t a thing in Tevinter nobility. 

“C’mon, give it here!” Sera wiggled her fingers.

“I’m not giving anything to that filthy monkey paw.” Dorian sneered. His words were steeped in sarcasm, hiding his really meaning. Sera was as sarcastic as he was sometimes, but even she couldn’t tell if his hidden meaning was actually out of friendship or disgust. 

She cackled regardless and darted off ahead, kicking up grass and flowers as she darted up a hill to see down the other side. 

\--

The venatori was still alive and none of them had ever seen Dorian so angry. One of Cole’s daggers was buried deep in his side and he was dragging himself along the ground, the last of his small party. Dorian was trudging toward him, staff at the ready, going to strike with the magic laced blade. 

Light was growing from the venatori’s wound, the blood leading to some spell, some magnificent bomb. Dorian was blind to it, stomping his way forward, ready to finish this. 

The Inquisitor grabbed him by the wrist, the right wrist, and the world went wrong. There was static in the air, the smell of ozone, magic bursting in Dorian’s copper skin. A barrier of purple electricity danced on his skin, and the Inquisitor had no chance but to pull back in fear of Dorian’s magic. 

The venatori’s spell burst, but Cole was speaking, and Dorian was looking far off. “Not going back, can’t take me. Silver and cold and hard so hard, where is the fade now? Everything so silent, so pressing, so alone. Don’t touch the space of losing everything.”

\--

Cullen rarely entered the tavern but this time, after their chess game, Dorian had dragged him along. It was obvious as to why Cullen was rarely there though, he could hardly contain himself with a few beers in him. His face was as red as when someone complimented him, ears too, and his words were already slurring. 

He liked Dorian. It was obvious from the wall under the stairs, obvious from anywhere in the tavern. His words of praise were loud and Dorian blossomed under them. There was no fear of him being some Tevinter spy, not from the commander, just a scholar and a mage and a damn good one of both. 

A yelp though, from surprise at Cullen dropping a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, had Krem standing on his chair, trying to see over the slight crowd. The Iron Bull didn’t need the help. He could see quite clearly as Dorian’s blush matched his friend’s, then drained away to nothing, and then the Altus was pulling himself to his feet and wishing Cullen goodnight. 

There was no drunken staggering, no exhaustion in Dorian’s step. In fact he was mostly running out of the tavern and out to his own quarters. 

\--

There was a growl deep in The Iron Bull’s throat. Mother Giselle was walking through the garden’s pretending not to hate Dorian, with her hand on his back. There was sweat on Dorian’s brow, even though he always complained about how cold it was in Skyhold. His bright silver eyes were darting around, looking for some means of escape. 

Leliana was in a corner, tending to some plants closest to the small prayer room. The Iron Bull forced a smile and caught up to the ‘Vint and the woman who hated him so, distracted Mother Giselle and shifted her over to the former Chantry Sister. 

Dorian’s hands were tight against his thighs. He wasn’t making eye contact. He seemed to be very far away. He said something and Bull couldn’t tell if it was a “thank you”, an “I’m sorry”, or a mixture of the two. 

\--

The Iron Bull wasn’t allowed in the tavern. He and Varric were waiting outside, shifting, listening, ready to draw weapons if anything happened. Dorian and the Inquisitor were in there, meeting the retainer from House Pavus. Something was wrong, very wrong. Something about the situation reeked of a trap. Varric felt it too, demanded he came along. 

They both jumped to their feet when the door slammed open, Dorian storming out from the tavern, flushed and drained. His legs were weak, his cheeks wet, and his perfect hair mussed. He was trying to hide the redness of his eyes, as well as the streaks of kohl that were staining his sleeves. 

The Inquisitor was right behind him, slamming the door as they left. “That fucking monster.”

Nothing came after them, no burst of fire, no onslaught of guards, not even a wild pack of venatori. Dorian fell onto the bench, just past his new guards. He looked like he was going to be sick. 

The fireball did come, but not from the door, from Dorian, when a hand went to his thigh. A strangled cry came from the man and Varric’s hand was pulled away, batting at his clothing to stop the fires from becoming an issue. It had been a small one, then had been lucky. 

The Iron Bull was certain that Dorian begged to go home under his breath. 

\--

His feet hurt. His ankles hurt. His knees hurt. Everything above that hurt too. The Inquisitor was a fool, always wanted to climb the mountains instead of finding a path. The Iron Bull pulled off his brace and his shoes and his socks, but not his pants. There was a scratching at the fabric of the tent and then Dorian’s head was poking in. 

The Iron Bull wasn’t a fan of the uninvited, but Dorian had been invited at Skyhold, not that he ever came, and he’d been so distant since Redcliffe, hardly saying a word to anyone. 

“You okay there, big guy?” The Iron Bull smiled at him, dragging one of his feet up to massage it with his too big fingers. He wasn’t flexible enough to get the foot up his thigh, and his fingers were too big to dig into the tightest knots of muscle. 

Dorian took off his own shoes, dumping out the sand of the Hissing Wastes. “I could ask you the same. Do you need some help with that?”

Bull was taken back. Dorian wasn’t the kind of person who would offer, he was too good to touch such odoriferous things.

“That wouldn’t be an insult to your upbringing?” he wiggled his toes in Dorian’s direction. 

Dorian didn’t even make a face at the smell of them and sat on the ground, subservient beneath where The Iron Bull sat. He couldn’t deny that such an image, someone so high and mighty in the dirt before him, ready to pleasure him, was magnificent, and he was sure to file the image away for later. 

“Nothing I could think of better to insult my upbringing. I’m certain it deserves it.” 

He took one of The Iron Bull’s feet, started to rub circles with his thumbs, searching out the most intricate knots to untangle. The Hissing Wastes were hot and dry, but Dorian applied his own heat to his fingers, melting the knots that wouldn’t come undone. 

Bull melted along with it, all of him but one dangerous area getting lax and compliant. Dorian switched to the other foot, giving it the same treatment as the first. 

The Iron Bull had a question, one that he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to frighten Dorian away and the mage was quite skittish under the right circumstances, more so, as of late. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” And pleasure it was. The Iron Bull was proud of himself, it was a good question, a safe one, not ‘why are you here?’ in such hostile tones. 

“I have been spending too much time alone and I desired some company.” Dorian pinched a tendon in Bull’s mangled ankle, added more heat to it, and pushed it until it made a creaking sound. “Never thought a Qunari would be my first choice, but when your other option is Blackwall...”

“You and the Inquisitor get along.” Bull pointed out. 

“Yes, but they’d want to pamper me and while I do deserve a lot of pampering, now is not the time nor place. I know you’re a spy, but at least you know when not to ask questions.”

Bull grunted and the rest of the massage was done in silence. 

“Your turn?” Bull asked, stretching his legs and checking for any remaining pain. None lingered. 

Dorian bit his lip, decadent, and looked over The Bull’s hands, the muscles that led to them, wondering how good the pressure of them on his body would feel. 

“I think... I’d rather not.” Dorian was speaking quietly again, that distance in his eyes. “I’d rather not put you in that position.”

“And what position is that?” Bull was curious. What position could Dorian take that The Bull was not allowed?

“Servitude could be one. Don’t forget, I’m the evil slave owning magister.”

“Altus.” Bull corrected. 

“You are quite good at listening, aren’t you?” 

“Good at seeing too. There a reason I can’t touch you?”

“I’m afraid of the bruises.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I can’t say that I do.” it was a lie, an obvious one. But Dorian was done talking about it, and he was getting up to leave. Bull wanted to take his hand in his own, pull him down, keep him there until he was ready to talk. Dorian had no desire to talk. 

\--

There were rules. There had to be. Dorian was inpatient, didn’t want to listen to them. It had taken so long for him to get there, through the Iron Bull’s unlocked door, he could wait a few more minutes. He does something Dorian doesn’t like, he says the word, it all stops. There are things that Bull cannot do, things Dorian needs to say. 

He acts tough, like he doesn’t need to say anything, like he doesn’t need Bull’s rules. He heads to the window though, half undressed, undressing himself, not letting The Bull help. He was just here for sex, not for care or comfort. He just wanted his body to be destroyed by the massive Qunari’s cock, he wanted to hurt inside, he wanted to feel strong for enduring. He didn’t want The Bull to see his face as he shook through the words. 

Simple things: No chains, ropes are fine. None of that touchy feely crap. No kissing. Nothing to do with his wrists. 

Odd requests but The Iron Bull has seen so much of Dorian in the past few months, how antsy he is of being touched at all. He knows Tevinter, knows how Dorian probably kissed a lot of mouths he never got the chance to see again, besides at a later wedding. He nodded, agreed to each and every request, and then disobeyed what he himself wanted. 

He wanted to grab Dorian, throw him onto the mattress, tear off the remainder of his clothing like the animal Tevinter thought he was, and ravish him. Instead, he ordered Dorian to strip, to lie on the bed, to show him his hole. Dorian did so with a smirk, undressing slowly, challenging Bull’s superiority while giving him a show. 

When Dorian is naked and long, stretched out on the mattress, knees raised and separated to reveal the hole hidden by dark black hair, Bull growls. He grabs Dorian’s hips, surprising him into yelping, but this is sex, this is safe, touches are alright here, and he drags the man to the edge of the bed. 

Dorian’s knees started to close and The Bull dragged his blunt fingernails down his thighs and Dorian whimpered, returning to position. The Bull was still fully dressed, but he bent to his knees, dragged his thick tongue alongside Dorian’s rim. He kept his spit slick, spitting in and licking it out, until Dorian was writhing under him, moving too much, needing the Bull’s hand. 

He pressed it against Dorian’s stomach, pinning him, not letting him pull his ass away from The Bull’s needy mouth. He tasted like sweat and sweet oils, not the things a man should taste like, but Dorian wasn’t a normal man. The Bull wondered how far the taste went, how deep he’d need to go to reach musk and headiness. 

He pressed his tongue into the pliant hole, licked into submission, and started to thrust. His pants were loose but even so, he could feel his own erection pressing into the fabric. He hadn’t even touched Dorian’s cock, wouldn’t, until the man was begging him to. 

Dorian was speaking in riddles, half trade half Tevine, all of it glorious and rushed and airy. The Bull moved his hands, dragged them down to Dorian’s muscle thickened waist and started to push and pull him alongside the bed, keeping his tongue still inside of him. Dorian’s back arched, his hands scrambling for purchase against The Bull’s wrists, something strange coming from his mouth, a sharp inhale, a whine. Not yet begging. 

Saliva was dripping down The Bull’s face when he finally pulled up, saw the flush going down Dorian’s chest, his cock sitting fat and heavy, leaking on his stomach, his ribs heaving under dark skin. His face was turned, one side hidden into the blankets. His mustache was wrecked and sweat was running down the side of his face. 

“What do you want, Dorian?“ The Bull asked, wanting to hear it, hear the words, know that the panting was constricting his words. He wanted Dorian to beg. 

He didn’t though, just turned his head, and lifted his feet. He placed them on Bull’s shoulders, looked up at him with a demand. 

The Bull didn’t move. He just waited. Dorian would tell him what he wanted eventually. 

Dorian was resilient, wanted to fight the order of things. He’d showed himself, months ago, to be subservient, but now, he was trying to fight for power. 

The Bull grabbed him by the hip, flipped him over onto his stomach. He wasn’t going to do anything that Dorian wanted, not until he was needy for it, until he was begging, until he was delirious with need. 

“You gotta be a good boy if you want to get fucked.” Dorian was starting to pull himself up the bed. A hand on one ankle and The Bull was pulling him back, letting his feet touch the floor, his ass in perfect position for The Bull’s cock or hand.  
In this case it was his hand. He brought it down hard, forcing Dorian deeper against the mattress, his hard cock sliding into the blanket. The man screamed out beneath him, both from surprise and the pain of it. The Bull grinned at his response, hand slapping down until those cheeks were red and puffy and Dorian had lost what little trade he’d held onto. 

He was shaking, sobbing, his face buried into the blankets, hands holding the fabric in clumps, hiding himself further. 

The Bull grabbed his shoulder, ready to hear his words, his apology, the sweet sound of his begging. He flipped him over again, letting his own body be hit by Dorian’s legs as they tried to find purchase or at least space once more. The blanket came with his hands, covering his face still. 

“Dorian.” The Bull had seen this before, could imagine the contortion on Dorian’s face. “What your word?”

Dorian shook his head violently, not letting out a sound, not letting out a hint of his skin from under the blankets. 

“Dorian.”

Dorian’s shoulders locked up. His knees came up, knees tightly pressed together, his cock purple from chaffing but half flaccid. He didn’t say anything. 

“I’m not going to stop unless you want me to.” Bull reached down, tried to take the blanket away, softly, from Dorian’s face, but the man held it tightly, and there was a sound, a swallowed sob, from underneath. “I just need to know that you know it, that you’ll use it if you need it.”

“Katoh!” it was something between a snarl, a scream, and a sob. 

It was too much. Dorian had come to be fucked by The Bull’s huge dick, not teased and dominated by Bull. 

A different tactic, fingers going under the blankets, reaching for what little of Dorian’s face he could find. The mage stiffened and Bull could feel the electricity there, ready to come out as a barrier. It was all too much. 

Bull sat on the bed, removing all of his touch from Dorian, letting him lay there unhindered. “You weren’t going to say it, were you?”

“I…” the sounds were stuck in Dorian’s throat, mucous making them hurt to make. “I don’t want to. I want to take it. Why can’t I take it?”

“Is it too much?”

“It’s fine!” Dorian was exasperated. “It’s just… I don’t know. Why can’t I do this!”

“Can I see you?” 

Dorian shook his head from under the blankets. Bull rose to his feet, glad he was still dressed, walked across the room and grabbed a handkerchief from his desk. Dorian flinched when Bull dropped it off onto a bared part of his chest, but calmed when he realized Bull wasn’t staying there. He was sitting in a chair, across the way, facing the desk. 

“There, now I can’t see you.” He spoke but his words sounded hollow, even to himself. He listened as Dorian moved the blankets and himself, pulled himself up the bed, wiped at his face and blew at his nose. 

“I said no questions.” Bull reminded, not moving. “But if you ever want to talk, the door’s always open.”

“You said that before.” Dorian laughed but it was pained and forced, “It took months for me to grace you with my presence and now we’re here.”

“I don’t mind here.” 

“Don’t say that. We both know this was a disappointment.” The last word was corrosive, burning through Dorian as he said it. Bull knew immediately that the word did not describe the situation, not in Dorian’s mind. How damaged could a man be?

“Well, think about things for a bit, figure out what would make this better and, next time, we’ll have a game plan.”

“You seem so certain there will be a next time.”

“I’m certain I want there to be.”

\--

Dorian was distant, more so than usual. He came out, got something to eat, went back to his quarters or his cranny of the library. He didn’t speak much to anyone. He kept his eyes down. The Inquisitor almost followed him up to his room once but there was a reason for Dorian to demand such isolation, there always was. 

\--

He was drunk and pounding on Bull’s door, not realizing that it was already unlocking and waiting for him to open it. There was a bottle in one hand, the only thing he was careful not to slam against the heavy wood. Bull snuck up behind him, easily, and pushed one hand past him, turning the knob and pushing the door out of Dorian’s way. 

Dorian practically fell into the room, heading to the desk and laying his half full bottle of wine on it, draping himself into Bull’s chair. Bull closed the door and, finally, latched it. 

“You okay there, big guy?” The Iron Bull noticed that the wine bottle was not from the tavern. It was wasn’t one of the Inquisitor’s bottles either though. Too nice and not nice enough. 

“Okay? I’ll have you know I’m an utter delight!” Dorian unlatched and kicked off his clunky boots. 

“You don’t seem to be doing so hot.” Bull sat on the side of his bed, close to the desk, not too close. Enough space for Dorian to bolt if he needed to. He shouldn’t have locked the door. 

“What do you want, The Iron Bull?” Dorian lay sideways in the chair, legs falling open on one armrest, facing Bull over his knees. His pupils were wide and lids relaxed. 

“Depends. I’m not taking you like this.” Bull snickered. 

“Why not? You could do whatever you wished with me like this.” Dorian tried to drop his legs to the floor, to spin to his feet and out of the chair, but his hands collided with the desk and he had to hold himself upright and steady. “You could touch anywhere, hit me, mark me, make me yours. I can’t even fight you like this.”

“And you won’t remember any of it.” Bull’s smile fell Dorian was serious, seriously drunk, but wanting to be used to be something The Bull could plunder. “Remember what I said about consent?”

“I remember and I give it freely.” Dorian walked with determined straightness over to the bed, only to fall to his knees in front of Bull. “Please, what you wanted from me last time, you wanted me to beg, yes? Well, I’m on my knees and I’m begging you to fuck me. Please, Bull, The Iron Bull, please. I need your cock, need it in my mouth, in my throat. I need to taste you.”

He lay his head on Bull’s thigh and looked up at him through his thick eyelashes. Those eyes and words had Bull hard, but the way his mouth was so lax, the heavy and misdirection of his hands, was a strong reminder as to how drunk Dorian was. 

“How about a deal? I ask some questions, you answer them, and you get a reward for it.” Bull had no idea what the reward would be, but maybe if he asked long enough Dorian would sober up. 

“Fine.” Dorian pouted, rolled his eyes, adorable even this lost. Bull reached out to pull Dorian up to his feet by his armpits but Dorian pushed him away, got to his feet of his own accord. 

Unceremoniously the mage fell onto the bed beside him, rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. 

“I know I’m extraordinarily interesting, so ask your questions. The more time you waste, the longer we’ll be, and I don’t intend to stay the night.”

“Why not?” 

Dorian chuckled, the sound deep in his throat from his position. “Why not? Well, what would people think? Someone like me spending the night with someone like you? I know there are rumors about me flying around Skyhold, I don’t blame anyone for spreading them, but that could be too much?”  
Bull tried to keep the venom out of his voice. He didn’t want to hear any of the blatant thoughts the Tevine had for his people. “What do you mean someone like me?”

“You know…” Dorian flung out his arms in front of him and gesticulated wildly, as if that were some kind of explanation before dropping his hands down heavily on his chest, “Open, presumably magnificent in bed although I’ve yet to see it, big, boisterous, a sexual entity.”

“I thought you were a sexual entity as well.” 

“That I am but I have extremely high standards and a great deal of expectation.”

“And I meet standards.”

Another pout. “I am here, am I not?”

The Iron Bull lay on his side, facing Dorian, moving so their bodies were parallel. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Ha!” the laugh was forced, “I’m afraid of nothing, especially in bed.” Bull raised his hand, reached out to stroke Dorian’s strong jaw, and the man flinched away. 

“I promised a reward.” Bull reminded, letting his hand rest on the blanket between them. “I can’t give you anything unless you’re being honest.”

Dorian rolled on his side, away from Bull. If there was no space between them, Bull could spoon him, make Dorian feel small and safe against his massive chest. 

“Honest? To a Ben Hessrath? Don’t be a fool.”

Bull touched Dorian, moved his hair out of his face. Dorian jumped at the contact, drawing himself slightly tighter. He was trying not to let his fear show though. 

“Remember, you’re Dorian, I’m Bull, while we’re here. There is no House Pavus. There is no Qun. We are just ourselves.”

“You say that but we are nothing without our upbringing.”

“And you hurt because of yours.”

Dorian’s eyes popped open and he turned, stared at Bull with such terror in his face. He was completely stiff, no longer lax from the wine. The Iron Bull knew the words, but the Bull knew not to say them, not if he wanted to get any more information out of the pretty mage. 

“What did they do to you?” he wanted to reach out, to touch, to comfort, but Dorian was too far away, would catch something on fire if Bull was too rash. 

“They did nothing to me.” Dorian hissed. 

“Did they touch you?” Bull could imagine it, didn’t want to. Dorian was too beautiful to be so distant, so fearful of affection. House Pavus had broken something in him. 

“Ha! Touch me? No, they had people for that, slaves, mostly.”

“You’re lying again.”

Dorian’s attention went to Bull’s ceiling again and his voice went so quiet that The Iron Bull had to strain to hear him. “No, they never did. I never, touch was for sex only, or for force. My father… he only… I don’t want to talk about this.”

“What was that?”

“Pass! Fine I don’t get a reward.” His eyes went to Bull’s face, frantic, as he pulled himself up off of the bed. “I can’t talk about this, I’m not here for this. It doesn’t matter! Why can’t you just fuck me and be done with it?”

Bull wanted to grab him, pull him down to the bed. He had to know, he had to know why Dorian was so broken. “Tell me, Dorian, it’s okay. There’s no judgment here. Like I said, nothing said here will follow us outside. That’s a promise.”

“Promises are all well and good but no one ever really means them.” To Bull’s fortune Dorian did not head for the locked door. Instead he went to the desk, took his abandoned bottle of wine, and downed it, letting the purple liquid drip down the sides of his mouth. Just some more lubrication then. 

“So you weren’t molested but you’re father did something, betrayed your trust.” The Iron Bull picked his words carefully.

Dorian spun on him, eyes wide. “M-molested? Is that what you meant?”

The Iron Bull stared him down, eye gentle but absorbing everything, the way Dorian was standing, his right wrist hidden from view, his shoulders drawn defensively, his eyes shining as much as the lip he was biting. 

“What did you think I meant?”

“I thought you meant, well, touching.” Dorian shivered, “Hugs and pats on the back on the like, like what you did to my hair. Like what people keep trying to do to my shoulders and hands and things. It’s not right!”

“You don’t like being touched?”

Dorian deflated, the fight leaving him all in one go, crashing to the floor around him. Bull hadn’t even noticed the strong smell of ozone in the air, the pressure of spells about to be cast, until they were all gone. 

“It… It’s not that I don’t like it… I just…” Dorian couldn’t find the words. He’d never admit that he was stammering but there he was, unable to do much else. 

Bull pulled himself up from the bed, walked steadily, slowly, cautiously towards Dorian. The mage shrunk away. If he didn’t dislike it then he must have feared it. 

“You want me to touch you?” he asked, stopping less than a foot away, able to feel the drunken heat wafting off of Dorian’s skin. 

“What will you do once you have?” Dorian stared at Bull’s hands, catching the curves of past breaks, the chewed short nails, the missing digits. 

“Probably touch you more to be honest.” Bull snorted. “Possibly touch myself once you’ve gone.”

“And in return?” Dorian’s voice hitched, expecting, dreading, what Bull would ask. 

“In return, you might get a little squished.” Bull smiled, soft, warm. 

Dorian lowered his gaze, and his guard. Any hints of a barrier were held at bay, ready to come flooding into place if they were necessary. Bull wanted to make sure they weren’t necessary. He closed in, slowly, only moving his feet, and then, when there was no more space between them, he closed his arms around Dorian’s shoulders. 

The man stiffened at the content and then, very slowly, relaxed. His shoulders fell, his hands came to Bull’s waist, his face was hidden in Bull’s shoulder. He hardly moved, hardly breathed, but his fingers were roaming, searching for The Bull’s strong muscles ready to grab or crush or plunder. Bull didn’t, he just held him there in a soft embrace. 

“Dorian.” Bull breathed into his hair.

Dorian nuzzled in further. Bull could feel the wetness on his chest, but Dorian wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t shaking, no matter how afraid he must have been.

“I’m going to move us to the bed, alright?” 

Dorian nodded against his chest. 

Bull lowered one huge hand, cupped it under Dorian’s ass, making the mage squeak in surprise. It was easy to lift him, so light even with how thick he was with muscle, and carry him to the bed. 

“Remember that warning?” he whispered to Dorian’s ear.

“What?”

“You might get squished?” Bull dropped them both to the blanket, Dorian underneath, Bull on top. Dorian was pinned under his monstrous weight and he squirmed there, just until Bull moved down his body enough to let him breathe. 

“You absolute brute!” Dorian was laughing, sucking down air. 

“You love it.” Bull looked up at him, glad to finally see him smiling. 

“I… I can’t believe I’d ever admit to it,” Dorian relaxed as Bull shifted, making sure the only weight on Dorian was comfortable, but crushing, “but I actually really do.”

“Can’t believe it.” Bull touched his face. There was a flinch at first but Dorian let him continue, let him stroke along his cheek. “Can’t believe someone as pretty as you were so starved for touch.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to touch masterpieces.” Dorian smirked, “Leaving oils on beautiful statuary? A crime! So is touching such a handsome face as mine.”

“Will my head be struck from my shoulders for this?” 

“No.” Dorian nuzzled into Bull’s hand. “Not for this. Never for this.”

\--

Dorian was close by, not imposing, but always just, there. He was at the tavern, a slight smile on his face. He was at the sparring ring, practicing with Dalish and some of the new recruits or watching the warriors flex and sweat with a blush to his cheeks. It was good to see him and, better, to be near him. 

\--

The Bull had him on his back, loose and warm, silk over his eyes and tied around his wrists, a band of it against his lips but not gagging just there for the feel of it. And Dorian was moaning, shifting, trying to rub his own cock with his thighs, but The Bull had them spread, one ankle hooked over his shoulder, the other in his hands. He pushed at Dorian’s arch, rubbed the ball, sucked on each of his toes in turn, hearing the man pant and gasp at the sensations of it. 

\--

They’d made camp far enough away from the Storm Coast that the sound didn’t bother Dorian’s delicate stomach. He’d complained of it the entire trip and, once drawing too close to it, had actually thrown up. Now, there was distance, and Dorian had a washcloth on his forehead, cooled with some kind of sigil. 

His eyes were closed and he was far away from the world. 

The Inquisitor put a hand on his thigh. Dorian jumped , staring at him, and then relaxed. The Inquisitor, now having his attention went to remove the offending appendage but Dorian grabbed a hold of their hand and returned it to the heat of his thigh. 

“Just surprised me is all.” Dorian promised and listened to what the Inquisitor had to say. 

\--

Leaning over the war table, looking over the figures, telling Cullen secret routes that the Venatori might take from Tevinter down into Orlais and from there to Ferelden. The Inquisitor had promised to help him cut down some former allies that had become Venatori agents, the hunting beneficial for them both and now the trick was to find them. The Iron Bull had been invited, as had Blackwall. It was best for them all to get a layout of the plan. 

That ass, just sitting there, pushed out by how Dorian was leaning, was as tempting as the ripest peach in summer. Bull couldn’t help but reach out and pluck it, feeling the heat of it wrapped in those tight leathers. 

Dorian yelped and pulled himself straight, knocking over a few of the trackers set on the table. He glared at Bull but it was harmless and Cull chuckled. 

\--

Dorian was drunk, but not terribly so. It was just enough to impair his vision. Enough to make him trip and fall, when the floor wasn’t as even as he had previously thought it was. 

Krem had reached out by instinct, wrapped an arm around Dorian’s waist before thinking, and steadied him. That was before the look of disgust had graced his face though and he’d released Dorian with an unsightly sharpness. 

“Oh.” Dorian straightened himself out and looked to Krem, not allowing any registration of the younger man’s hatred of the altus appear on his face, “Thank you Crem-Cremisius. You’re name is hard to say when I’m drunk and I know you’d prefer it even with the stupid class issues. So Krem, yes? Yes.”

He stumbled awkwardly out of the tavern, back toward his own chambers, leaving Krem to stare awkwardly at his passing. 

\--

His shoulders were hot and smooth under The Bull’s calloused hands. He gripped them, massaged them, and sometimes couldn’t tell if it was his own thick cock in Dorian’s ass or the hands on his shoulders that had the mage crying out. Finally, finally here, after nights of touches and talking, after too much or too little ale to rightfully consent, not The Bull was buried deep inside of him, feeling the tightness of his hole wrapped around him. 

Dorian had been touched like this, liked these touches before but already, it was different with Bull. He could take and give pleasure as he willed or be forced to take and take pleasure until he couldn’t handle it any more. 

The Bull pushed him further, moving his hands from his shoulders to his back, pinned him into the blankets as he thrust deeper, the angle shifting so that the curve of his length could run alongside Dorian’s prostate, getting him just that much closer to orgasm. 

He hasn’t touched his cock yet, neither of them have, but the rules were laid out and when Dorian needed it, to feel those strong hands tug at his dick till he was nothing more than sensations, then he would beg for release. 

\--

Beautiful. Her wings were stretched and the sun was a hazy green coming down through them. Her scales sparkled and energy fizzed amongst them. The gills in her neck pulsed with energy. 

A high dragon. A real high dragon. The day couldn’t get any better. 

He reached out, grabbed the first thing he could. The sight was magnificent. They could all see her, clear as life, but did they see her the way that he did? 

What he grabbed as small and tight and plated with metal. It was snatched away from him almost as quickly as it’s touched it. 

Dorian was staring at him, wide eyed and furious. He was holding his own wrist, the right one, hidden behind golden bracelets, as if Bull had broken it. 

“Dorian.” He moved to apologize but Cole was there first, so silent neither of them had heard him, but so calm that he didn’t come as a shock. 

“The bad wrist. The one no one can see. How can one be bad but the other good? One is good for binding, easy to hide, easy to chain to a wall. That’s over now, no going back. No one’s going to bind you again.”

“Cole.” It wasn’t a plea to stop, nor a warning. Just his name. Dorian looked at the gaunt boy as if he was there for some kind of rescue. 

“You’re here now.” Cole promised. “And there’s a dragon. Your wrist isn’t going to chain you anymore. No more isolation, no more loneliness. You never have to see that room again.”

A small, sad smile crept onto Dorian’s face. “That’s right Cole. It’s just a wrist. And all of that nonsense is behind me.

\--

Samson was not dead but in captivity. Corypheus’s army was failing him. The Inquisitor was leading them up to him now, two dragons fighting over their heads. Bull wanted to be there, wanted to watch the two fight each other, but this was it. This was the end game. This was their chance to lose it all or win everything. 

He was frightened. This man, this thing, was some kind of demon mixed with a man mixed with Darkspawn. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what it was exactly. And its voice was booming from every corner of the place. 

And then there was a hand. It was hot and soft and delicate, all but where rings graced the fingers. It slipped into Bull’s hand so readily, and clutched his thick fingers in his own. 

Bull looked down, saw Dorian, face strong and stance powerful, magic crackling in his other hand. Bull didn’t need to beat Corypheus. He’d already won everything.


End file.
